Chapter Text
The conference room is too cold. Martin’s been in here a hundred times but today the air conditioning feels like it’s working overtime, or maybe that’s just him. His palms are sweating where they’re pressed against his thighs. He tries to wipe them discretely on his jeans but it doesn’t help. The leather of the chair sticks to the back of his legs and he shifts, uncomfortable, wishing he’d worn something heavier than just a t-shirt and skinny jeans.
Director Han Miyoung stands at the head of the table, her laptop connected to the projector behind her. She’s maybe forty and always wearing those sharp blazers that make her look like she could dismantle you with a single email. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun today and her poker face is as incredible as usual. Martin’s never been scared of her exactly, but he’s also never been stupid enough to get on her bad side. She’s the kind of person who could end your career with a phone call if she wanted to.
The company logo glows on the screen behind her. Martin stares at it, trying not to think about why they’ve been called in on their day off. Emergency meetings are never good. Last time it was because someone leaked their comeback concept photos two weeks early.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why we called this meeting,” she says, as if she's reading his mind. Her voice is calm, professional, like she’s about to present quarterly earnings instead of whatever bomb she’s about to drop on them.
Next to Martin, James shifts in his seat. Martin can hear the leather of it creaking and feel the older boy’s knee bounce against his own. His nervous energy is obvious, having never been good at sitting still during these things. Across the table, Juhoon has that blank expression he gets when he’s trying not to react to anything, eyes focused on some point past Director Han’s shoulder. Keonho is leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, not smiling for once. And Seonghyeon—
Martin glances at him. Seonghyeon is watching Director Han with complete focus, which he always does during important meetings. He’s probably the calmest of the five members right now, as well as the most present. His hands are folded on the table in front of him, relaxed, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Martin wishes he could borrow some of that right now. Wishes he could reach over and grab Seonghyeon’s hand under the table just to lessen his anxiety, but that would be weird, right?
“We have a situation,” Director Han continues. She clicks to the next slide and Martin’s stomach drops.
It’s screenshots. Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, Korean forums, international fan sites. All of them filled with comments Martin definitely doesn’t want to read but can guess the content of anyway. The hate has been getting worse lately, he knows that. They all know that. Their social media team has been working overtime trying to control the narrative but it’s like trying to stop a flood with your bare hands.
Some mistranslated comment Martin himself had made on a live three weeks ago that antis twisted into something it wasn’t. A photo of James looking tired at the airport went viral and suddenly there were think pieces about how their company is overworking them, how they’re not talented enough to deserve their success, how they only got big because of their looks. Keonho trending last week because some fan account decided the way he pronounced a word in English was disrespectful, and more. The list was endless at this point.
It’s all bullshit, anyone with common sense could see that. But that doesn’t stop it from trending. Doesn’t stop the comments from piling up, getting more vicious, more personal. Doesn’t stop his mom from texting him asking if he’s okay because she saw something online that scared her.
He’s learned not to read the comments. Learned to hand his phone to their manager during award season, to avoid searching his own name. But sometimes he still sees them anyway. The words burn themselves into his brain even when he’s trying not to look.
“The narrative around you right now is not good,” Director Han says, tone clinical. It sounds like she’s diagnosing a problem with their comeback stage blocking instead of talking about thousands of people who hate them for no reason. “We need to shift focus. Give people something else to talk about.”
“Like what?” Keonho asks. He sounds tired.
Director Han smiles, but it’s not a comforting one.
“A relationship.”
The room goes silent.
Martin’s brain stalls out. A relationship? Like a dating scandal? Is she about to tell them one of them is actually dating someone and they need to do damage control, or is someone getting a fake girlfriend for publicity, or—
“Specifically,” Director Han says, and her eyes land on Martin, then slide to Seonghyeon, “a relationship between the two of you.”
The words don’t make sense at first. Martin’s brain tries to process them, rearrange them into something that makes sense, but they just sit there. Heavy. Impossible.
Huh?
His heart kicks hard against his ribs. He can’t have heard that right. She can’t have just said—
“I’m sorry, what?” That’s James, and he sounds as incredulous as Martin feels. There’s an edge to his voice that Martin’s never heard before, something between disbelief and anger.
Martin can’t move, or even speak. He can’t do anything but stare at Director Han like if he looks at her long enough she’ll take it back, say she’s just joking and that this was some kind of test.
Director Han clicks to the next slide. It’s a timeline, with phrases like “three months minimum”, “six months ideal”, and “promotion schedule” scattered around it.
“We’ll start soft. A few carefully placed rumos here, some ambiguous social media posts there, then confirmation through a Dispatch ‘leak’ we’ll coordinate ourselves.” She looks between Seonghyeon and Martin, expression neutral like she’s discussing comeback concepts instead of asking them to lie to millions of people. “After that, it’s on you two to sell it. Airport photos, backstage interactions, variety show moments. Nothing scripted, though—we need it to look natural.”
“Because it basically already is,” she adds, almost smiling. “You two have the foundation, you’re just… reframing it.”
Martin’s hands are clenched in his lap, knuckles white. This is insane. They want him to fake date Seonghyeon—Seonghyeon—for six months straight. They want him to lie to their fans, their families, and everyone who trusts them. Pretend to be in love with someone who’s been his best friend since they were twelve and thirteen, someone who knows him better than almost anyone. They’re essentially turning everything between them into a well-crafted story, a carefully orchestrated PR move.
His mind is racing, spiraling through every possible outcome. What happens when it ends? Do they just fake a break up and make some statement about wanting to focus on their careers? Do they have to act heartbroken? Will fans turn on them for lying? Will their friendship survive having to pretend it’s something it’s not?
The worst part is it makes sense. He can see the logic, can follow the trail of Director Han’s analytics and metrics to their inevitable conclusion. Seonghyeon and Martin, the group’s main producers, the two who’ve known each other longest, who are already comfortable together. Who already blur the lines between friendship and something more in the eyes of their fans. Fans already joke about them. Already make edits, write comments, create entire narratives about their friendship; the company is just giving them what they’ve been asking for.
Except it’s not real. None of it will be real. It’s just Martin and Seonghyeon playing pretend, acting out a relationship for the cameras while their actual friendship turns shaky under the weight of the lie.
He risks a glance at Seonghyeon. The younger boy continues to watch Director Han with a focused expression, but he’s clearly processing the new information as well. He doesn’t look surprised though, or panicked, or angry or confused or any of the things Martin is feeling right now.
In fact, Martin would even say he looks okay with all of it.
There’s a silent message in Seonghyeon’s posture that Martin can’t quite read. He’s sitting forward slightly, hands folded on the table, completely still as takes in the powerpoint slide still on the screen. It almost seems like he’s already three steps ahead, planning how this is going to work. Like this is a choreography they need to learn, a song they need to master. Something they can perfect if they just practice enough.
It should make Martin feel better. Seonghyeon’s calmness should be reassuring.
Instead, it makes Martin feel more off-balance and lost than anything else. How is Seonghyeon so okay with this?
“Why them?” Surprisingly, it’s Juhoon who speaks up. It’s the first thing he’s said since the meeting started.
“Analytics,” Director Han says simply. She pulls up another slide, this one showing graphs and metrics that make Martin’s head hurt. “Fan engagement is highest when Martin and Seonghyeon interact. Clips of them together trend consistently. There’s already speculation in some fan circles. The demand is there, so why not give the people what they want?”
“You’ve known each other the longest,” she continues. “Since trainee days. The history is real, the closeness is real. All you have to do is let people interpret it differently.”
“And if they say no?” James asks, a protective note in his voice.
Director Han’s expression doesn’t change. “Then we continue as we are. The hate continues, your comeback gets overshadowed, and the company has to work three times as hard to rehab an image that keeps getting worse.” She pauses. “Or you do this, and in three months you’re Korea’s favorite couple instead of the group everyone loves to hate.”
It’s not really a choice. Martin knows it’s not really a choice.
He looks at Seonghyeon again. Seonghyeon is already looking at him.
“Okay,” Seonghyeon says. Just like that, as if he’s agreeing to a schedule change and not a complete upending of their lives.
Everyone turns to look at Martin.
His mouth is dry. The silence in the room is suffocating. He can feel all of their eyes on him—James’s worried, Juhoon’s calculating, and Keonho’s wary. Director Han is waiting. Seonghyeon is still looking at him with a steady gaze that makes Martin feel like everything might actually be okay even when it’s not.
He doesn’t know what to say. This is Seonghyeon, the boy he’s known for four years. Seonghyeon, who brings him snacks without asking; who bought him a ring because he caught Martin looking at it; who lets Martin sprawl across his lap during long van rides, his fingers absently playing with Martin’s hair while they both doze. Seonghyeon who he trusts more than almost anyone, who’s seen him at his worst and never flinched.
And now they want him to fake a relationship with him.
“Martin?” Director Han prompts.
“I—” His voice comes out rough. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Okay.”
Director Han closes her laptop. “Perfect! We’ll start planning the rollout soon, so I’ll need both of you to check your emails tomorrow. Questions?”
Silence.
“Good. Meeting adjourned.”
Martin sits there as everyone starts to shift, gathering their things and whispering to each other.
What the fuck had just happened?
The van ride back to the dorm is quiet.
Martin stares out the window, watching Seoul blur past. The city is bright even in the late afternoon, neon signs starting to flicker on, people crowding the sidewalks. Normal people living normal lives, not sitting in the back of a company van trying to process that they’d just agreed to fake date their best friend for half a year.
His phone is in his hand but he’s not looking at it. Can’t focus on anything. He can’t stop replaying the meeting in his head. From now on they would have to make suggestive social media posts, be caught holding hands in airport photos, and act lovey-dovey on variety shows. “Sell it,” Director Han had said.
In the seat next to him, Seonghyeon is looking at his phone, scrolling through something Martin can’t see. His face is bathed in the blue light from the screen, face neutral. He looks completely unbothered. How is he not upset about this? How is he sitting there like nothing happened?
Martin wants to say something. Needs to say something. They should definitely talk about this, right? Figure out how they’re going to do it, what it means, what the rules are. But every time he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. His throat feels tight and his thoughts are moving too fast to catch any single one.
Seonghyeon’s knee is pressed against his in the cramped back seat. Martin is hyperaware of it suddenly, of every point where they’re touching. It’s painfully normal, considering the circumstances, but it feels different now. Everything feels different now.
They pull up to the dorm and file out one by one. The elevator ride up is just as silent, and all Martin can do is count the minutes as they pass. Two, three, four—
The door closes behind them and James immediately collapses onto the couch with a groan.
“Well that was fucking insane.”
Martin’s chest loosens and his shoulders relax a little. Leave it to James to break the tension.
“Understatement,” Keonho mutters. He heads to the kitchen, starts pulling out cups. “Does anyone want tea? I feel like we need tea.”
“I need something stronger than tea,” James says, but he’s smiling when he says it. He sits up, running a hand through his hair as he turns to Martin and Seonghyeon, “Are you guys really doing this?”
Martin sinks into the armchair across from him, his whole body feeling heavy. “I guess we are.”
“It could work,” Keonho says, coming back with mugs and distributing them. “Fans already joke about it. I’ve seen the edits.”
Martin has too. The comments under their vlogs, the Tiktoks that show up on his FYP even when he’s not looking for them:
Martin and Seonghyeon are so close.
The way Seonghyeon looks at Martin >>>.
I’m convinced they love each other.
He never thought much of it because fans do that with everyone. Ship culture is basically a part of the job at this point.
But now…
“It’s still lying,” Martin says, his voice weaker than he would’ve liked.
The room goes quiet anyway.
Seonghyeon sits down on the couch next to Juhoon, cradling his mug between his hands. “We’re always performing,” he says quietly. “On stage, in interviews, at fan signs. This is just… another performance.”
“One that’ll last six months,” Martin says.
“Three months minimum,” Seonghyeon corrects, his eyes meeting Martin’s across the room. “And it’s not like we have to act that different. Director Han said it herself, we’re only reframing what’s already there.”
“I just don’t want it to be weird,” Martin admits. “Between us. I don’t want this to fuck up our friendship.”
Something flickers across Seonghyeon’s face, but it’s gone so fast that Martin wonders if it was ever there in the first place. “It won’t,” he says, certain. “I won’t let it.”
James clears his throat. “Personally, I think you two will be fine. You’re already disgustingly comfortable with each other.” He grins. “Just add some yearning gazes and you’re set.”
“Hyung,” Martin groans, but a smile is growing on his face.
“I’m just saying! You hold hands all the time anyway. You’re basically already dating, you just don’t kiss.”
Martin’s face goes hot. “We do not hold hands all the time—”
“You literally do,” Juhoon says, obviously trying not to laugh. “Like, constantly.”
“That’s— that’s different—”
“Is it though?” Keonho asks. He’s smiling now too, bright and amused.
Martin looks at Seonghyeon for help but Seonghyeon just shrugs, lips quirking up. “They’re not wrong.”
“I hate all of you,” Martin mutters.
The tension breaks. James laughs, Keonho makes another joke about Martin’s non-existent personal space awareness, and for a few minutes it almost feels they’re not about to spend the next six months lying to everyone they know.
But then Juhoon is getting up from his seat, setting his mug down as he stands. “We should let you two talk,” he says, looking pointedly at Keonho and James. “Alone.”
James catches on first. “Oh. Yeah. Right.” He stands up, stretches. “We’ll be in our rooms if you need us.”
“Good luck,” Keonho says as he passes. He squeezes Martin’s shoulder on his way by.
And then it’s just the two of them.
Martin stares at his tea. The silence feels heavier now, weighted with everything they’re not saying. He can feel Seonghyeon looking at him but he doesn’t look up.
“Are you okay?” Seonghyeon finally asks.
Martin laughs, even though the situation is anything but funny. “I don’t know. Are you?”
“Yeah.” Seonghyeon sounds like he means it. “I am.”
“How?” Martin looks up. “How are you so chill about this?”
Seonghyeon is quiet for a moment. He sets his mug down on the coffee table, leaning back against the couch. “Because it’s you,” he says simply. “If I had to do this with anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”
Something warm and confusing blooms in Martin’s chest at the words. He doesn’t know what to do with it.
“I’m still scared I’m going to mess it up,” he admits. “Like, what if I’m too obvious that it’s fake? What if people can tell?”
“They won’t.” Seonghyeon sounds so sure. “We’ve known each other for four years, hyung. We know how to be around each other, this isn’t gonna change that.”
“But what if it does, Hyeon?” Martin asks quietly.
Seonghyeon shakes his head. He stands up, crosses the space between them, and sits on the arm of Martin’s chair. He’s now close enough that Martin has to tilt his head back to look at him. “I’ll take care of you,” Seonghyeon says, his voice soft but serious. “We’ll both be okay, hyung. I promise.”
Martin wants to believe him. He wants to believe things will be fine, that their friendship will survive this intact and soon they’ll laugh about this.
He wants to believe Seonghyeon can keep that promise.
“Okay,” Martin says. “Okay.”
Seonghyeon smiles and brings his hand up to ruffle Martin’s hair gently, the action easy and familiar.
“We’ll figure it out,” Seonghyeon says. “Together.”
Then he leaves, presumably to go back to their room. Martin stays in the chair, staring at nothing.
Then his phone buzzes with a message from their manager in the group chat: Airport departure tomorrow, 7 AM. Martin and Seonghyeon, this will be your first public appearance. Look good.
Martin’s stomach flips, all the calmness he’s managed to gather evaporating into nothing.
The airport is crazy.
Martin knew it would be, but somehow it’s still worse than he expected. The crowd outside is massive, pressed against the barriers three or four people deep, phones held high like offerings. He can hear them screaming even from inside the terminal, the sound muffled by glass and distance but growing louder with every step they take toward the departure gates. He hears his name, the other members’ names, and “CORTIS” chanted in unison. It’s a wall of noise that makes his ears ring and his chest tight.
He didn’t sleep last night. He couldn’t stop staring at the ceiling of his room, running through scenarios and trying to figure out how to act today. He texted Seonghyeon at three in the morning—are you awake?—and looked towards his bed to catch any movement, but got no response. There Seonghyeon was, sleeping like a normal person while Martin questioned everything that had led to this moment.
Snapping out of the memory, Martin realizes that their manager is giving last minute instructions; rapid-fire reminders about where to look, how to walk, what to do if anyone asks questions. “Don’t overdo it, just be natural. Let them see what they want to see,” he says, tone clipped and professional.
Natural. Right. Like any of this is natural.
Martin’s heart is trying to break out of his chest. His hands are clammy and he wipes them on his jeans again, a nervous habit he can’t break. He’s probably done airport departures like 50 times by now, but this is more nerve-wracking. This time everyone is going to be watching, analyzing every glance and touch him and Seonghyeon share, looking for proof that they’re together. For confirmation of what the company is about to leak to Dispatch in a few days.
This is it. The beginning. Once they walk out there, once those photos hit the internet, there’s no taking it back.
He looks down at his outfit. Black jeans, a white t-shirt under a black hoodie, silver rings on his fingers. Seonghyeon is wearing something similar—dark jeans, and a grey hoodie with a white tank top underneath, his hair pushed back from his face with a pair of sunglasses. They didn’t plan it but they look coordinated anyway. Martin supposed they’ve been doing this long enough that they’ve started to sync up without trying, pulling from the same rack of casual wear in their shared closet.
The other members are scattered around their little waiting area. James catches his eye from across the space, giving him a thumbs up and a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Juhoon nods at him, calm and reassuring. Keonho mouths “you’ve got this”. Seonghyeon is next to him, their shoulders brushing every time they move, and Martin wonders how
he’s the only one that seems even the slightest bit nervous.
“Ready?” their manager asks, hand on the door.
‘No,’ Martin thinks. ‘Not even a little bit. Not even close.’
But he nods anyway, because what else could he do?
They start walking toward the doors. The other members fall into formation around them, practiced and smooth. Martin can hear the screaming getting louder, can see the flashes of cameras through the tinted glass. His hands are shaking so he shoves them in his pockets, trying to steady his breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth like their vocal coach taught them.
And then Seonghyeon’s hand finds his, warm and steady, fingers lacing through Martin’s and pulling his hand gently from his pocket.
Martin’s breath catches. His eyes snap to Seonghyeon but the other boy is looking straight ahead, expression unreadable. Like he’s not currently holding Martin’s hand in front of two hundred fans and a dozen cameras. Like this is just another airport departure, just another day.
But his thumb brushes over Martin’s knuckles, soft and deliberate, and Martin’s heart does something complicated in his chest.
“Keep breathing,” Seonghyeon whispers low enough for only the two of them to hear.
Martin takes another deep breath, forcing his body to relax. He tries to look like everything’s okay and his best friend holding his hand doesn’t make his entire world tilt sideways.
The doors open. The screaming hits them at full force, cameras flashing so bright Martin has to blink against the spots they create in his vision. Fans are calling their names, security is shouting instructions, phones are everywhere, pointed at them from all angles.
Seonghyeon’s hand tightens around his, grounding him in the pressure of the feeling.
“Ready?” He asks again.
Martin swallows. Nods. Attempts a smile even though his face feels frozen.
“Yeah.”
They step right into the thick of it, hands intertwined, and Martin knows with absolute certainty that his life is never going to be the same.